Heart and Soul
by katia1
Summary: CHAPTER SIX UP! Syd and Nigel go on a relic hunt on Xmas Eve, only to enounter an unexpected taste of romance...and death? FOR TANYA REED! IT'S A CATFIC! HAPPY BIRTHDAY, HAPPY XMAS AND HAPPY NEW YEAR!
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimers: ****don't own any of the characters from Relic Hunter or make any money from my fiction writing. I don't own any of the Xmas songs referenced either!!!**

**For ****my friend, Tanya Reed: Syd, Nigel, friendship, shippiness, Christmas emotion, cats and a touch of death…I hope you enjoy! HAPPY BIRTHDAY!!**

Chapter One

'Remind me again, Syd,' sighed Nigel. 'Why exactly is it we have to go and find the sacred scrolls of some Second Century Indian monk right _now_, on Christmas Eve?'

Sydney laughed as she accelerated their car along the main road out of the city, her eyes dancing between the busy traffic and her despondent-looking assistant, who was resting his head forward in his hand. 'This isn't about it being Christmas Eve, is it?' she teased. 'This is about it being 4pm and you being worried we won't be back in time for dinner! Are you hungry already – or have you got a hot date?'

Nigel shot her a mildly indignant glare: 'No, I haven't, and you know it! All nice girls have somewhere to be on Christmas Eve, and for _none _of them is it with me…' He trailed off, his fingers trailing lugubriously through his hair, and then flushed slightly. Sydney was now observing him with a modicum of concern.

'I _am _hungry though,' he added, steering the conversation back to safer ground. 'I wish we could have at least got takeaway or something before we left town.'

'Relax, Nigel,' grinned Sydney. 'If Penelope has done her research right– and she _is _a top student – this should just be a case of finding the right place, maybe negotiating one or two rivals and, uh, simple traps, and we'll be back in time to be toasting chestnuts in front of an open fire _way _before midnight! And, if you're interested, it's 'open house' at my place tonight, as well as tomorrow. I've enough food and wine to have us both stretched-out on our backs and clutching our stomachs until next June! Care to join me?'

Nigel scrunched his nose. 'Nah, its okay. To be honest, I'm not even sure about tomorrow. After all, you'll have your Dad, Jenny, Karen and her brother, and I've got a lot of studying to catch up with and…'

'Hey! You said you'd come! Besides, as I told you before, I'm not taking no as an answer!' Sydney glanced in the rear-looking mirror, and then indicated for the verge, pulling over with a crunch on the breaks. 'What is this all about Nigel? You, uh, well…don't quite seem yourself.'

'Oh, I'm sorry!' Nigel pulled off his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose. 'I really don't know what's come over me! Its just that…well…well Christmas seems to have been more to do with bad than good for me that past few years! At least, before I got to the States, it mainly consisted of lonely bed-sits or throwing crockery at Preston and…well, that just makes the memories of the good ones all the more painful and distant. I guess I was expecting to have an evening alone just to…well…'

'…mope by yourself in the moonlight?' Sydney finished the sentence lightly, but she reached over and squeezed his knee affectionately. 'Hey, come on, Nige. Seeing as you've no place to be, hadn't you might as well be on a hunt with me?'

Nigel forced a lop-sided smile. Being on a hunt after a fascinating relic with Syd was as good as life got, he told himself - despite the dangers, temptations and infinite frustrations!

'You know, as ever, you're completely right! I'm…I'm sorry. Sometimes, _I_ don't even know what I'm on about!'

'I do. It's okay to hurt.' Sydney cast him a sympathetic glance, started the engine again and pulled out into the traffic. 'Hey, Christmas can be a difficult time, when you've lost someone close. I shed a tear for my Mum at this time every year. I really miss her.'

Nigel said nothing, merely giving a little cough. Sydney strained her eyes sideways, silently cursing that his face was cast in shadows.

After a moment, he asked: 'So, um, you never answered my question. Why the big rush to find this thing on Christmas eve?'

'Well, for a start, somebody was snooping around Penelope's research in her study earlier today – none of her research was taken, but a shadowy figure was seen running away – so we can't let a rival beat us to this! But, more to the point, the texts of Banasidol's scroll only become visible once a year, on the date of an ancient Janelian festival, which just happens to be today - so _nothing _to do with Christmas!'

'Hmmm,' Nigel sounded unconvinced. 'If it does only become visible once a year, how are we going explain a blank scroll when we get it?'

'Tricky, yeah - but _we _can read it tonight, and aren't you just a little curious to know what it says? Legend claims it holds the key to the connection between the soul and the body, and the passage of the soul between earth and Nirvana…'

'…which is no doubt why some American Mafia boss ordered it to be plundered it from its resting place in an Orissan temple in the 1930's,' jutted in Nigel sardonically. 'I'm supposing he wanted to ease his passage to a pretty afterlife!'

'I don't know what Alfred Hostler wanted with it,' admitted Sydney. 'But I doubt it did him much good. You need a bit of decent Karma to get into heaven…but, anyway, it should be a good find. And its time that Banasidol's followers were given their scroll back, so at least next year they can read it for themselves!'

Nigel took a deep breath and stroked back his fringe. It was an amazing relic, and an exciting sounding hunt – this was what he lived for. Why was he behaving like a fool?

'Look, Syd, I'm sorry. Really, honestly, there's nowhere else I'd rather be with on Christmas Eve – and, um, nobody I'd rather be with.'

Sydney beamed, her shiny, plum-coloured lips slightly parted. 'I really appreciate that Nigel. You know, I think we're going to have a great time!'

Nigel returned the smile, now slightly embarrassed and, for want of anything better to say, muttered, 'Um, I hope you don't mind,' and turned on the radio.

Inevitably, the local station was blasting out an execrable selection of silly Christmas songs.

'Ugh! It's that one about 'I wish it could be Christmas Everyday!' cringed Sydney. 'I hate that – I mean, don't get me wrong, I _love _Christmas, but once a year is quite enough! I still haven't quite digested last years Turkey curry!'

'Oh God, yes! It's the bit where the children's choir comes in that always has me reaching for the sick-bag,' gulped Nigel. 'But at least you don't have so much Cliff Richard over here. 'Christmas Time, Mistletoe and Wine…'' Nigel's little song trailed off into a truly heartfelt shudder. 'It sends a shiver down my spine every time!'

In a few seconds, however, the seventies rock faded out and the car stereo began wafting forth crackling strains of lush strings, and the unmistakable, tremulous tones of Judy Garland.

'**Have yourself a merry little Christmas,  
Let your heart be light,  
From now on, our troubles will be out of sight****…'**

'Ah, at last, a real classic,' observed Sydney, cranking up the volume a little to accommodate the quietness of the aging recording. 'This was from the movie, _Meet Me In Saint Louis_, made in 1944, at the height of the dark days of World War Two.' She paused, her expression misting with empathy as she reflected on the lyrics. 'These words must have meant so much then to families who were without their loved ones, and to the soldiers, away fighting in Europe…'

Sydney was about to say just how much she liked the song when Nigel suddenly spluttered: 'Oh, Jesus Christ!' and violently slammed off the radio.

'What the heck?'

'Stupid, saccharine, over-sentimental Americana! Oh, oh bloody hell, I'm sorry…I didn't mean to offend…'

'Uh, okay!' Sydney, momentarily incredulous, pulled the car over onto the verge, an easier feat than before as they had reached a much quieter, forested side-road. It was now quite dark. She switched on the light, only for Nigel to look away quickly, shading his eyes as if it were far too bright for him.

Sydney wasn't having any of it. Placing one hand on his shoulder, she gently pried away his hand. He inhaled sharply when she placed two light fingertips on his far cheek, and tilted his face towards her.

'It's a ridiculous, sappy song,' he groaned. 'I don't know why it set me off like this…but…but…my mother used to sing it, at the piano…and…'

'Oh Nigel,' whispered Sydney, catching his single tear on her thumb. 'It's okay to cry…it's _good _to cry, honestly.'

'Is it?' sighed Nigel, raising his glistening eyes towards the clouded heavens. 'It never seems to do me any good.'

Sydney leant over, her chin practically resting on his shoulder. 'That's because you don't let it. I've never even seen you cry before, despite everything we've been through.'

'There's been time when I've been close,' he confessed, with a maudlin half-smile. 'And I…I cried in the Russian Steppes, when I was all alone and I thought you were dead.'

He jumped again as two moist lips brush lightly against his cheek. 'Thank you,' whispered Sydney. 'I appreciate that.'

This time, Nigel couldn't resist a genuine laugh, if just to break the tension. 'Well, what did you expect? I was hardly going to do a rain-dance, was I?'

'No! I guess not.' Sydney laughed too. Yes, this was the Nigel she knew and loved - Christmas blues or no! She threw her arms around his shoulders for a quick hug, before she started the engine again, and shoved the car into gear.

'Come on, Nigel,' she grinned, 'let's forget Christmas for now and just go Relic Hunting.'

**Thanks for reading, please review and FOR THE START OF THE ADVENTURE please go onto the next!**


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimers: don't own any of the characters from Relic Hunter or make any money from my fiction writing.**

Chapter 2.

Syd and Nigel drove for another hour through increasingly horizontal, sleety rain before they reached the spot on the map that Penelope had marked with a large cross.

'Well,' began Nigel, wiping the mist from the window - their collected breath had steamed it up. 'The house should be somewhere around here…Bloody Hell!'

An unexpected flash of lightening momentarily lit up a tall, weather-boarded house on a hill. It towered three stories high, with additional windows in a steeply slanting, gabled roof. A slightly off-kilter, cone-topped turret to one side gave it a decided air of American gothic.

'Why am I conjuring up images of _Psycho, The House of the Hill, The Haunting, Edward Scissorhands, The Texas Chainsaw Massacre_ and practically every other scary movie I've even seen,' groaned Nigel. 'That's Hostler's house, isn't it?'

'I reckon so,' breathed Sydney. She was squinting through the rain towards the looming, dark building, her hand still rested on the steering wheel. 'And, uh, it doesn't look right for _The Texas Chainsaw Massacre_. But for the others – spot on!'

Nigel gawped at her, faintly horrified. 'Isn't this the moment you're suppose to reassure me everything will be just fine?'

She grinned, squeezing his knee. 'Everything will be just fine, Nigel! It's just a little creepy…that's all. Now go open the gate.'

'Me?'

Nigel glanced over towards a tall, rusting gate, its iron-work moulded to form ornate sculptures of flowers and other foliage – although, at that moment, they appeared more reminiscent of man-eating Trifids. The icy rain was still pounding down, too – and he knew just how much Sydney hated being cold and wet. 'Well, if I must,' he muttered, and pulling his woollen coat tight around him, threw open the car door.'

The gate was heavy and, although the padlock was broken, it took Nigel some effort to push it open against the buffeting wind and rain. It was only when he was nearly done, however, that he noticed the sign lying on the floor.

It was a modern sign, stark black letters printed upon a vibrant yellow: 'POLICE CRIME SCENE INVESTIGATION: DO NOT CROSS.'

His every vision of bloodshed intensifying, Nigel picked it up and threw himself back into the car.

'Syd, look at this,' he panted, his coat and hair dripping wet. 'I…I thought this place hadn't been inhabited since the 1930's.'

'Yeah, that's right,' replied Sydney, cringing slightly as she edged the car slowly through the gates onto a bumpy and steeply ascending driveway. 'But…uh, there has been some sort of ongoing criminal activity associated with it.'

'Criminal activity?' Nigel's eyes narrowed sharply. 'What sort of, um, criminal activity?'

'There might have been the odd, uh, murder…just one or two, or maybe six, taking place around this time of the year. But nothing since, oh, the mid-1990's. Nothing to worry about!'

'Murders!' squeaked Nigel. 'And you tell me n…oh God! What was that?'

They both jolted forward in their seats as Sydney slammed on the breaks. 'Phew,' she sighed. 'I think it was a cat. It shot across the drive in front of us. It must be terrified in this storm, poor thing – I'm so glad I didn't hit it.'

'Great…but what's going to hit us?' moaned Nigel. 'I can't believe you've brought me Relic Hunting on Christmas Eve at a House of Horrors!'

IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII

The double-doors at the front of the house were covered in peeling black pain, and were approached up a steep set of steps. There was no point in using the brass knocker or even in picking the lock. One of the doors was hanging ajar, anyway.

Sydney pushed it open, and it heaved a predictably mournful groan. She shone her torch into a large and once plush lobby, with heavily patterned, faded wallpaper, and ragged, scarlet drapes. Generously sized doors led off to a half a dozen chambers on each side, and a wide, shallow-stepped staircase wound up to first and second floor landings. Spider-webs criss-crossed the ceiling in a macabre mimicry of the Christmas decorations they'd left far-behind in their warm, modern houses and the cheery offices of the university.

'Well, this is homely,' quipped Nigel. His flashlight darted nervously around the cavernous space, resting on a dominating portrait positioned half-way up the staircase.

It portrayed a bulky man dressed in a sharp, black suit and a bowler hat. In his mouth was a large cigar; on his arm was a curvaceous, raven-haired beauty with a tight-lipped pout.

'Alfred Hostler?' asked Nigel.

'I'm guessing so,' replied Sydney. 'And the woman must be his wife, Marjorie. She was the daughter of the mayor of Boston – her union with the King of the criminal underworld caused quite a scandal, as you'd guess. Then she died young, I believe.'

'Murder?' shuddered Nigel.

'I don't think so. If I recall, it was a sudden illness or something. Some say it destroyed Hostler as much as it did her. He vanished completely soon after – although most believe he ended up the victim of jealous rivals, face down in the Charles River!'

'She looks nearly as shifty as him,' replied Nigel, regarding the portrait warily, then added quickly. 'Although I guess she still didn't deserve to die. No doubt she wasn't as bad as he was.'

'No doubt,' echoed Sydney, '_he_ was a killer alright! Woh!'

They both started as the sound of a slamming door resonated from far-off in the upper echelons of the house.

'The wind, right?' grimaced Nigel.

'Right,' replied Syd, her confident tone wavering only slightly. 'Okay, let's get moving. If you were a 1930's gangster, where would you hide your most precious plunder?'

Nigel shrugged: 'Under the floor-boards, in a safe behind a portrait, in the loft…?' He jumped again, as another door slammed, this time slightly closer, maybe on the first floor landing. 'Although I'd rather not go up _there_!'

'Mmm, well, maybe we don't have to,' started Sydney. 'Al Capone had his secret compartments in the basement – behind the swimming pool to be precise!'

'So you think we should go down, first? That sounds like a great idea…' Even as Nigel spoke, a strange, low, screeching noise, akin to that of a large piece of furniture being moved across a floor – or a deep, anguished scream - came echoing from the level below them. The colour began to drain from his face.

'It's an old house,' reassured Syd, forcing a smile. 'And, remember, last time we went into a gangster's basement, what we found was an attractive blonde with a crush on Nigel Bailey!'

'Yeah,' sighed Nigel, 'and my affair with Lori lasted all of…oh, five minutes! Besides, if memory serves, we also found the world's earliest remote control machine gun, and the son of a corrupt police chief and his henchmen who tried to gas us to death! But apart from that…'

'…it was blast!' Sydney wiggled her eyebrows, her eyes laughing. 'Relax, Nigel! Really, there's nobody here but us, and I sure as hell have no intention of getting shot at, gassed, or anything bad, before I burn that turkey that I've got sitting in my fridge – and that I spend half a years wages on!' She giggled loudly, not quite drowning out a clap of thunder. 'Okay, let's find the way down.'

IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII

'Sydney, look at this!' called Nigel. 'There's a descending staircase behind this door – and it looks like it's been bricked up at some time.'

'That's weird,' observed Sydney, shining her torch on the pile of broken – but relatively shiny and modern-looking bricks that littered the top few steps. 'This must have been blocked up _since_ Hostler lived here.'

'Maybe the police bricked up the basement after the, um, crimes had taken place?'

'Or maybe the police were the ones who unblocked it…you'd better take care climbing over them.'

'You mean we're going down?'

'You bet.'

They both felt increasingly uneasy as Sydney let the way down, the narrow, wooden staircase. 'So…um,' ventured Nigel, 'these murders that took place in the house. Do you know anything about them…about how they found the bodies, that sort of thing?'

'You sure you want to know?' asked Sydney, as she alighted onto the stone-flagged floor of an apparently empty basement.

'Yes, I do,' retorted Nigel – this was only half the truth, but any other answer seemed cowardly, and he _was_ morbidly curious. 'You don't have to protect me - I can handle it.'

'Okay then. The bodies were discovered in the months after Christmas, each lying unburied on the grass in front of the house. Apparently, they had all been starved to death - then their rotting hearts had been gouged out, and were never found.'

'Oh!' Nigel raised the back of his hand to his lips, suddenly feeling rather ill. 'Oh…um…and do you think there is any chance that those poor buggers starved when they were bricked in a basement? Oh…God…maybe, I really didn't want to know _that_!'

'You asked!' retorted Syd, as she scanned the basement carefully, with its dusty piles of chairs, rat-chewed cardboard boxes, and piles of chipped and stained pottery. 'Nothing too out of the ordinary here,' she murmured. 'Nothing says gangster – or India.'

'…or murder!'

'No. Maybe we should rummage in some of these boxes.'

'If we must!' Nigel, still grumbling, made his way towards a large, not-too-incriminating looking tea-chest. He never quite made it though – instead, he stubbed his toe on something, and found himself hopping up and down in pain, clutching his foot.

'Ow!!! What the…'

Sydney was at his side in an instant, providing Nigel with a shoulder to steady himself on, but shining her torch intently at the floor. Carved on the stone slab were eight round niches, about the size of large coins. They were intersected with some long, indented lines. At either end was a larger, round niche.

'Does that look familiar to you?' she breathed.

Nigel, intrigue over-riding his painful toe, knelt down to examine the patterns closer, pulling his glasses out of a pocket on the inside of his coat and popping them on his nose. 'It looks to me like an Ancient Indian game-board…like those which are often found carved into temple floors. It could be a variant of Conclak. Um, what's it doing here, Syd?'

'I have no idea - but I _really_ want to find out!' Syd was now crouching down beside him. 'Have you any idea how you play it?'

Nigel frowned, dredging his knowledge of ancient Indian game-play from the recesses of his mind. 'The rules are quite simple – you have seven little shells, or grains of wheat, in each hole. Then whoever goes first, um, scoops the shells out of one hole and drops one into each shell going round the board, in an attempt to get to their storehouse – the large hole at the end. It sort of carries on like that, and whoever has the most shells in their storehouse at the end, wins.'

'Simple?' laughed Syd. 'I guess it is once you play it! It's a shame we don't have any pieces. I wonder if it triggers something?'

Nigel shivered; the storm was still brewing and the whole house above them seemed to shake as it was smashed by a particularly strong gust of wind. 'Do we really want to trigger something in this place? It could be a death-trap!'

'It could be – but I can handle that! We want to find the scroll and get out of here right?'

Nigel exhaled heavily: 'Yeah, right…well, we'd better find something to play with!'

IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII

In the end, Nigel tore up the pages of a notebook he'd got stuffed in his pocket, and they piled the pieces into the holes.

'Surely this won't trigger anything?' he wondered out loud. 'The paper will be too light for any delicate mechanism to sense.'

'So you want to go outside and gather some pebbles?' teased Syd.

Nigel pulled a face: 'I wouldn't mind getting out of this house for good, actually, but getting soaking wet again and coming back? NO thanks!'

'Well then, let's play! Hmmm, it's a shame we don't have some music, a bottle of wine…'

'and a meal!' interjected Nigel. 'I'd choose that over more nauseating Christmas music any day! Err, what's the time?'

Syd glanced at her watch: 'Nearly 7pm.'

'We really should have brought that takeaway!' bemoaned Nigel. He finished arranging the pieces of paper in the holes. 'Okay, let's play. Do you want to go first?'

'No, you'd better. You know what you're doing better than me.'

'That's a first!' Nigel grinned; it was a modest, confidential smile that glowed in his light, hazel eyes. Even though his face was eerily lit from below by torchlight, it filled her with a warmth that quashed the feel of the chill air and the dampness of her clothes.

'Don't be silly.' She reached out and squeezed his hand as he reached to take the first playing pieces out of one the niches. 'There's been _so_ many times when I'd never have survived of you hadn't been there. We're a team - I can't do without you!'

'Now _you're _being silly!' It was a light-hearted retort, but he pulled his fingers away, slightly embarrassed.

'Okay, off you go,' beamed Sydney, trying to maintain the mood. 'You _sure_ you don't want me to sing Christmas songs?'

She got the reward she was looking for; an endearing, cheeky smile. 'You are joking, Syd? The screeching wind is bad enough…'

Very carefully, Nigel dropped his first piece of paper into the next niche. It was at that instant that the lights flew on.

Both Nigel and Sydney looked up in alarm. Sydney had noticed the ancient gas-lamps on the wall, but it had scarce been worth trying to light them. Now each was flooding the basement with waves of flickering light. And, standing on the bottom step of the stair, and pointing a large Tommy-gun at them, was a sharp-suited, round-faced middle-aged man in a bowler hat.

'Alfred Hostler!' gasped Sydney.

'It can't be!' stuttered Nigel, blinking hard and hoping to hell he was hallucinating.

'Oh, but it is!' drawled the gangster. 'And lookin' good for 126 years of age, don't ya think?'

'Nah, I would say that,' quipped Sydney, rising very slowly, even as Hostler trained the gun on her. The relic hunter knew she had to get it off of him, but he was too far to be reached with a flying kick – she desperately needed a distraction, or something to throw.

'You still look like an ugly piece of work to me!' Syd's fingers edged towards a tottering pile of crockery.

The gangster bit back quickly. 'Your pretty, poutin' lips are gonna be sayin' much sweeter things to me soon, Tulip!'

Then everything happened at once. Sydney grabbed the plate and hurled it, Frisbee-style, at the gun. It struck Hostler's arm, even as he fired. The bullet ricocheted off the ceiling, and struck Nigel below the shoulder. He cried out in shock, crucially distracting Sydney's follow-up blow and giving the gangster a chance to cast aside the gun, pull an aging yellowing scroll from his sleeve and read two simple lines. Nigel recognised them, even if they were in an unfamiliar, early Indian dialect: 'Her body is mine; her soul is cast away.'

Sydney, her hand reaching to snatch the scroll, instantly crumpled to the floor.

'No!' Nigel, forgetting the scratch made by the bullet, launched himself towards her, scooping her head and shoulders into his lap. Even as the gangster and the gun stepped closer, he frantically searched for a pulse. He couldn't find it… but it had to be there! Sydney wouldn't die – not like this. She couldn't!

It was only when the man was looming right over him that Nigel looked up. He was trembling with shock; his insides felt sick and tight with the unbearable intensity of his emotion.

'What have you done to her…you bastard! You unspeakable bastard…I'll…I'll…'

'She's gone,' cackled Hostler. 'And you're going to join her!'

'She can't be dead!' yelled Nigel, barely registering the threat on his own life as he frantically squeezed Sydney's limp wrist. There was no pulse. 'What did you say? Give me the scroll…I'll bring her back…I'll…I'll…'

Nigel gasped as he felt the cold barrel of the Tommy-Gun press into his temple.

'You won't be doing anything but dyin', boy? Now kiss ya pretty lady goodbye!'

Nigel stared, almost vacantly, at the man; feeling the gun ease away a little, he glanced down at Sydney. Her olive skin had already faded a little; her plush, shiny lips had somehow diminished and paled. The realisation hit him harder than any bullet, and instantly sucked from him any will to fight: whatever had just happened, Sydney was no longer there. Her spirit, her vibrancy and the awesome determination to live - and to live well - that had meant so much to him, had deserted this suddenly fragile shell.

But she was still beautiful.

Tears pricked in Nigel's eyes as he leant down and brushed his lips over hers. They were warm still; luxuriantly smooth, and slightly moist. But no breath escaped. She was gone, quite gone.

'Goodbye Sydney,' he whispered. Then, as if in a dream, he added. 'I love you…and there's still nobody else I'd rather be with tonight…'

Then the gun smashed down over the back of his head and everything went black.

Hostler laughed very loudly, drowning out even the thunder and lightening that splintered around the tumbledown mansion. Without much effort, he pulled Nigel's body off Sydney's. The young man was still alive, he could tell that, but that wasn't really a concern. It was the lovely lady that mattered.

'At last,' he sighed. 'A body that can do my Marjorie justice – a form that suits my darling, my little Tulip!'

Even as he lifted her lifeless form over his shoulder, however, a first hurtled towards his face. Unfortunately, it shot right through and out the other side, nearly sending its owner tumbling forward.

Sydney gawped angrily at her oddly see-through hand, and then, with a much greater pang of worry, at Nigel's prostrate form. Then, amidst her confusion, she suddenly realised who the dark-haired female figure being carried from the basement was.

'That's me!' she cried out loud. Nobody heard her, but the truth dawned on her quickly now: 'I'm a goddamn ghost!'

Sydney gritted her spectral teeth and clenched her translucent fists: 'I'm going to get you for this, Hostler, if I have to raise the dead myself…well, uh, raise myself, I guess!'

However, even though Hostler had now vanished, Sydney did not immediately go after him. Her attention was snatched by Nigel, who she now realised was quite unconscious. A thin trickle of blood seeped from the back of his head.

How on earth – or on whatever realm she now existed – was she going to help him?

**Thanks for reading. Please review.**


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimers: as before.**

**Thanks for those reviews!**

**I turned this chapter out in one hell of a rush, as a certain person is off on their Xmas hols and I want to get as much as possible written today and tomorrow :) Hope its not too daft, and please review!**

Chapter 3.

Sydney crouched down and peered intently into Nigel's face. He was quite unconscious; a shock of dark hair drooped down towards his eyes, starkly contrasted with the now ashen paleness of his complexion. Instinctually, she tried to brush back his fringe – but her fingers merely slipped straight through. She could feel the faint warmth of his skin; sense the dampness of the little beads of cold sweat on his brow. But she could not touch him or have any physical impact at all.

She nearly screamed out in frustration. 'Okay, Sydney,' she told herself. 'You've got to try and get through to him…'

Focussing very hard, she called his name. 'Nigel…Nigel! It's Syd! Listen to me, you've got to wake up, and you've got to get out of here before that madman comes back. I'll do what I can to help you, but you have to try…okay?'

Nigel didn't as much as flinch. His lips were still, his handsome features placid, although somehow she could tell he was agitated. Something was going on inside his head. She just had to reach him!

'Right, let's try another way…'

Sydney did her best to clear her mind – or whatever residue that endured - of all its confusion and hone it in on Nigel.

Warmth washed through her. She became very aware of the steady beat of his heart – suddenly so powerful it resonated through the whole basement - and of the gentle, and slightly uneven, rise and fall of his breathing. A rushing sensation as powerful as water flooding from a burst dam disarmed her for a moment. Then she realised it was the blood rushing through his veins.

It was as if she was within him, part of him. For a moment she experienced an incoherent kind of ecstasy - then realisation struck her. She could only sense Nigel's life-forces so strongly because her own was so completely, deafeningly silent.

'He's quite alone!' she thought abruptly; then, a very alien question overtook her. 'Am I helpless to do _anything _for him?'

But it was when she heard him call her name, that things started getting _really _odd…

'_Sydney, Sydney…help!'_

_Sydney was standing alone on a flawless beach, her toes sinking into shimmering white sand. A gentle sun caressed her unadorned flesh, smiling down at her from a spotless blue sky. _

_In front of her, however, was a stormy sea. Mountainous waves were menaced by low-hanging black clouds, which pelted their tumultuous brows with rain. _

_There in the midst of the tumult, at an ill-defined distance from the shore, was Nigel. He was struggling desperately to keep his head above the surface and waving frantically. Every time one of the colossal waves hit him, he would disappear for a moment – causing Sydney's otherwise serene being to clench with alarm – but then reappear, fighting to stay afloat and yelling at the top of his voice. Shouting her name._

_Sydney fought through her dimming awareness, finding herself roused by the ongoing, dull thumping noise: 'You've got to help him,' she told herself. She tried to move towards the sea, but her feet remained static. _

'_Damn it!' she yelled, and her hands extended forward, strangely elastic, until they nearly touched him. _

'_Syd!' yelled Nigel. He stretched towards her, panic gleaming in his eyes. 'Syd…I can't reach you!' Another wave buffeted him, and he vanished for a second, only to reappear, more drenched and destitute than ever, his hair plastered against his forehead and choking out water._

'_Hold on,' she called back. 'I'm coming, just hold on in there…'_

_She reached as far as she could, and he lunged towards her. The pounding beat in her ears accelerated like an acid dance beat – then their fingers touched with an electric crack of lightning. Her hand tightened around his, and she began to drag him towards the shore._

_The terrible beat began to fade. The sea descended into an eerie calm and Nigel's lips curved into a soft smile. 'Take me with you, Syd,' he whispered._

_It was then she realised. She __was __taking him with her. She was urging him to die…_

_With a scream, she let him go. The beat began to race once more, and the seas began to rise._

'_You've got to swim, Nigel, you've got to do it alone!'_

'_I don't want to!' he yelled. 'I want to come with you!'_

'_You can't – but you can still save me, I'm sure!' An enormous wave drenched him again; she felt his shock as he gulped a lungful of water, striving desperately for air. But his heartbeat was now pounding wildly again: 'You've got to find a way, find the scroll…'_

'_Sydney – don't leave me! I couldn't bear to go on alone!'_

_Her every emotion tore in two: 'I can't take you with me - I can't! But maybe…'_

_She glanced frantically along the sun-kissed beach, glimpsing palm-trees, lush fruits, sweet-water springs and the shadowy forms of lost loved-ones. Then, with a will power that could shatter granite, Sydney tore her feet from the warm, sands of home and dived into the icy ocean._

Back in the basement, Nigel still lay on the cold, stone floor, quite still. Sydney hovered over him, silent and uncharacteristically doubtful. It was then, however, that she heard another noise

Tap, tap, tap.

That certainly wasn't Nigel's heart! It came from the top of the staircase.

'Hostler,' growled Sydney. 'What are you up to, you lowlife! Okay, Nigel – hang on in there, I won't be long. But I need to find out what the heck this bastard has been messing with…'

Sydney glided up the stairs - her feet moving swiftly but scarcely seeming to contact with anything - and barged straight through the shut-door only find herself inches from the bulbous nose and meanly gurning face of Albert Holster. She stopped on the verge of passing straight through him – 'that would just be gross,' she shuddered. Sidling around him, Syd glared venomously.

The mobster was wielding a hammer and nails, and had just fastened a couple of planks across the door. 'That should keep 'im in, until I've got time to brick it up properly,' he muttered to himself. He then loped up the grand staircase, Sydney cursing in his ear the whole way, and swept into an elaborate, emerald-draped bedchamber.

Adorned with exquisite, Louis IV furniture, the room's grandeur was somewhat diminished by several generations of damp-stains, a multitude of moth-holes, and a thick crusting of dust. Nevertheless, Sydney's attention was almost snatched by the beauty of the neglected antiques on display in this 'lady's chamber' – but then she saw the body on the bed.

'It's me! Ugh, stay away from me, you creep!'

Hostler was already leaning over her, stroking her lifeless cheek. Sydney hadn't felt her skin since she'd been dead – but now she was convinced it was crawling with revulsion now!

'My beauty, my little tulip, soon we will together again. You will be more stunning than you have ever been – and I cannot wait to ravish you!'

Hostler planted his thick, rubbery lips upon her own, lifeless ones. Even without a stomach, Sydney feared she might be sick!

'Now, my little Tulip, I will retrieve your soul from its terrible limbo!'

As he drew away from her body, leaving it relatively unmolested, Sydney felt a tiny inkling of relief. But not for long! Hostler strode straight over to a once-beautiful, walnut dressing table, and picked up Banasidols' scroll. Underneath it, and left alone for now, Sydney spied a very large, and _very _old looking book.

'What's that?'

Eyes narrowing suspiciously, she hurried over, even as Hostler returned to the bed. The cover was of flaky, ancient leathery skin, and inscribed with an early form of medieval Latin – oh, how Sydney wished Nigel was here to help her translate! Still, even under pressure, she made out the first few words – 'Ethelbert's Book of the Deathly Heart.'

Sydney recoiled in horror. It was a title she'd heard of only in whispers – and one she'd never hoped to read!

It took her no time to recall that Ethelbert had been an early Saxon king who, so legend had it, made a pact with the Devil. Evoking a terrible curse through the incantations he wrote down in his book, he had prolonged his life unnaturally by consuming the hearts of men he deliberately starved to death and whose souls he cast into an ether of hell to pay off the deal. The 'Book of the Deathly Heart', indeed, was one relic even Sydney Fox had never wanted to find! But Hostler obviously _had _found it – and, in tandem with Banasidol's scroll, what dark magic had he unleashed?

Sydney had little time to ponder. Hostler was now leaning over her lifeless corpse, and whispering words in an ancient Indian tongue that she _really _didn't want to hear.

'I conjure your soul, my sweet one, from the realm between; and seal it in this earthly vessel…'

'Aaaargh!'

Intuition over-riding sense, Syd threw herself at him, grabbing for the scroll. Of course, she whooshed straight through, tumbling through the burly gangster, her own corpse, and then several layers of damp and rotting bed-sheets and mattress. She only just prevented herself plummeting through the floorboards and wound up inter-mingled with a wealth of mouse-droppings; an enormous, hairy spider; the rags of a once-fine ball-gown; remnants of what appeared to like animal fur, and…bones. Pure, white, human bones.

Sydney found herself staring down into the gaping eye-sockets of a skull. It lay in a pool of thinning black hair, still cascading from the scalp. Her mouth was practically kissing a perfect set of naked, pearly teeth.

'Aaargh!' Sydney foisted herself away, mercifully finding herself back the other side of the bed.

'Who the heck was that?' she wondered out loud.

'Me!'

Sydney turned quickly. A raven-haired woman in a black silk ball-gown, a cream fur-stoll and kitten-heels was standing there, her arms folded impatiently.

'Marjorie Hostler!' snarled Sydney. 'You're going to stop what you're husband is doing, or I'll…uh…'

'Kill me, would you?' The woman gave a crowing laugh. 'Not much good, seein' as we're both pretty darn dead already!'

She'd barely finished speaking, when Sydney grabbed the ghostly form of Marjorie by the front of her furs – hell, it felt great to be physical again! – and shouted straight in her face.

'You're messing with the wrong body and soul, Marj! Stop him now or, believe me, I'll find a way to make sure he's so dead no afterlife would touch him!'

Marjorie's lips twitch with amusement: 'That's just fine by me, Sugar! Just as soon as he's got me back in a body…although, whatever the ol' fool thinks, you sure ain't as pretty as meeeeeeee!'

Marjorie's voice faded, and her form flickered and disintegrated. Returning her focus to the bed, Sydney realised that Hostler had now picked up the 'Book of the Deathly Heart,' and was chanting loudly in medieval Latin. Her eyelids - or rather, those of the body on the bed - began to quiver rapidly.

Marjorie was possessing her! She _had _to do something. But everything had been useless so far!

'Okay, so I can't use my physical form. I'd better try something else – what do ghosts do? Or…poltergeists do?'

The storm, still raging outside, gave her an idea. If only she could somehow blow over the pages of the book, cut him off mid-chant?

It sounded silly, but she had to try it: 'Channel the wind Sydney – harness the weather, and feed off the storm! Blow over the pages!'

She concentrated hard. Nothing happened. Something snapped inside of her. Scraping her fingers through her hair, Syd cried out with frustration.

'Aaaaaargh!'

A window flew open; air swirled into the room at a rapid pace, flicking over the pages of the book. Hostler grunted in surprise, his chanting broken – even as an enormous branch, ripped from a tree in the squall, came flying through the window and clonked him square on the jaw.

'Great shot…uh, me!'

Sydney dashed to the bed to check that Hostler was out for the count. As far as she could see, Marjorie hadn't taken full possession of her body yet, either - or, at least, she had not woken up.

The book and the scroll had been tossed like feathers to the far side of the room.

Sydney was tempted to try and read them now but, somehow, she knew that it would take more than an ethereal spirit to reverse the incantations. She had to get Nigel.

IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII

As his eyes flickered open, Nigel found himself gazing unfocusedly into the grim, unfamiliar basement. More pertinently, though, his head felt like it had been stamped on by a herd of buffalo!

He groaned as he sat up, his senses swaying dizzily. It was then he noticed the niches on the floor, and the scattered bits of paper. Everything that had happened before began to flood his memory.

The storm; the night; the game; the gangster; and Sydney being…

His insides clenched painfully. Sydney was dead… at least, she had appeared dead, or he'd been tricked into thinking she was dead. It wasn't possible that she really was! Not Sydney.

He scanned the room, anxiously. Her body wasn't there. It _had _been a trick! Hadn't it?

However, as recalled an image of Hostler, the scroll in one hand and the Tommy Gun in the other, his hopes began to sink.

'What have you done to her, you bastard?'

Mumbling determinedly, and brushing down his dirty clothes, Nigel scrambled to his feet.

'Nigel, Nigel, Nigel!!!' screamed Sydney, her nose only millimetres from his. 'Come on! If I can channel the force of the storm into opening a window, then you can hear me if I want you to!!'

Sydney's spiritual self performed an impressive approximation of a gasp as Nigel walked straight through her, flooding her once more with that strange sensation of warmth.

'What was that?' stuttered Nigel. He shivered - but, slightly confusedly, decided it had been an oddly pleasurable sensation. A shiver of joy?

But how could he be thinking about pleasure when Sydney could be dead? He sighed deeply, and started up the steps out of the basement.

It was then that one of the tottering piles of crockery smashed to the ground. Valuable pieces of antique porcelain shattered, shards flying off across the floor at a thousand discordant angles.

'Bloody Hell!' Nigel's hand flew to his heart in terror.

'COME ON!' hollered Sydney. 'How can I get through to you? Can't you guess its me?'

Nigel, however, had merely turned a shade paler and was now tearing up the stairs like a frightened animal.

'Damn!' muttered Sydney. 'Damn, damn, damn…I need to do something more, uh, _me_! But what…'

Her eyes scanned the basement, resting on a pile of gramophone records that had been revealed behind the falling pile of china. Besides them were some old, wooden game boxes: one for chess, another for a dice-game. Nothing obviously of use…

Her thoughts were yanked back to present troubles, however, when Nigel bashed the door and cursed. Rushing up behind him, she found him rattling away at the locked exit - which, as she well knew, was boarded up on the other side.

He was rummaging in his pocket in vain for something to pick the lock with. 'Damn! Syd would have this thing open in no time…'

'Yes, and she will!'

As she spoke, Nigel paused and looked up. For a subliminal moment, she thought he had heard. Then he frowned, and began tugging away at the door handle.

She swallowed her frustration. 'I'll _show _you I'm still here, then. I promise!'

'Come on, you bugger! Moooove!' Nigel jarred his shoulder up to the door and shoved as hard as he could. Then he took a step back and shoved again. The lock finally clicked, and the door flew forward but only an inch. Then it clashed against a new obstacle – the planks.

Nigel realised there was something blocking it and heaved again with all his might. It creaked, but didn't give.

'Nnnng! Why won't you open!'

Suddenly deflated of all energy, Nigel leant back against the door, letting it click shut. His head was throbbing like hell, and he was out of breath – but none of that really mattered. An undeniable recollection consumed the last of his spirit: Sydney. She was lying lifeless on the stone slabs, her life force departed, and the cold taste of death on her usually radiant lips. Tears filled his eyes as he slid to the floor. Could she really be gone this time?

'Oh God, I wasn't good enough. All those time, I managed to come thought…and the one time that mattered…I should have saved you!' Failing to choke back his sobs, he thumped his fist against the bottom of the door in sheer anguish.

With a splintering crack the door flew open. Nigel tumbled onto a pile of shattered wood into the airy hallway.

'How…what?' He pulled himself to his feet remarkably quickly, then wiped his eyes. The impact had definitely come from behind him, and had sent that strange, icy shiver down his spine again – but there was nobody there, was there?

An inkling of the impossible dawned. 'Sydney?' he called, quiet and uncertain.

'Yes!!!' she yelled in his face. 'Yes, yes, yes!! Try and believe in ghosts Nigel, fairies, pixies, anything! I'm here! I'M RIGHT HERE!!!'

She wrapped her arms as close as she dared around him, sinking through his thick clothes into his yielding flesh, and brushed her lips against his. An effervescent bliss shimmered through her, like a gentle ripple over still water. Discerning him tremble, she knew it coursed through him too.

She stared at him imploringly – Nigel's expression was etched with confusion, his lips slightly parted. He ran his tongue over them tentatively.

'Nigel?'

He looked down sadly, his forehead grazing against hers.

'It's your imagination, Bailey!' he muttered. 'Show some respect! How can you think about kissing her, when she's probably…'

'Agh!' cried Sydney. Maybe kissing wasn't _quite _typical between them – but, then, she'd done it once before today! And that was before he'd even called into the afterlife to tell her he couldn't bear to go on without her!

'Please, Nigel,' she begged. 'Try and listen to me! I'm not dead…well, I'm sort of dead, but I'm sure you can find a way to get me back if you just go upstairs and read that scroll and book…Nigel?'

He was looking straight at her, his light-hazel eyes now vibrant with shock.

'Sydney?'

'Yes!!!' she yelped. 'Yes!' She was just on the verge of kissing him again when he walked right through her.

'Sydney?' repeated Nigel, with an air of wonder. Syd turned to see herself – or her body, at least – leaning languidly against the bottom banister, dressed in kitten heels and a shabby, grey ball-gown. 'I thought you were…how…what _are _you wearing?… oh God, I'm so glad you're alive!'

He threw his arms around the woman's neck. She looked mildly shocked for a second, and then returned the hug with ardour, smoothing her hands salaciously over his back.

'Well, hello sweetheart,' she drawled in his ear, taking a firm grasp of the hair on the back of his head. 'I oughta slap you for bein' so forward…but, ya know, you're pretty cute! I think you and I could be mighty good friends!'

With that, she slapped her lips over his and thrust her tongue deep into his mouth. Nigel gave a stifled cry of surprise and bewilderedly returned the kiss, even as the notion flashed through his mind: 'THIS MIGHT NOT BE SYDNEY!'

'Oh God,' groaned Sydney, rubbing her ghostly forehead in irritation. 'Why do I have a nasty feeling she's going to eat him alive?'

**Thanks for reading. Please review.**


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimers: as before.**

**Thanks for those reviews!**

Chapter 4.

Of course, the woman looked like Sydney. Hell, she even felt like Sydney! The full-bodied, glossed lips were as smooth and moist as ever; her hair, which escaped in wispy strands from where it had been hastily pinned up, was silky and soft as it tickled against Nigel's cheek. And her ample, yielding curves - they felt as great as ever, even under the flaky, old ball-gown, which scraped against his jacket, disturbingly reminiscent of dead skin.

But, of course, he was quite sure it was _not_ Sydney – and this was confirmed when he extracted himself from the crushing embrace and stared deep into the dark-chocolate orbs of her eyes. The soul of a complete stranger laughed mockingly back at him.

'You're…um, you're not Sydney!'

'Too right, Sugar!' purred Marjorie, her arms still tight his neck. 'Sydney's gone – and, thanks to my nasty hubby, all you've got left is lil' old Marjorie! Shame, huh?'

Nigel stared at her breathlessly as the dull ache of loss seized him again. This was Marjorie - Hostler's long-dead wife – in Syd's body? It was just too preposterous, and so, so dreadful!

'She can't be gone. It's quite impossible! And…well, um,' he began stumbling on his words as he completely failed to make sense of it all. '_This_ is impossible! How can you be in her body…she…she must still be in there, or out there somewhere!'

'Aw!' Marjorie bounced the tip of her finger off Nigel's nose which, amongst all his handsome features, she found particularly appealing. 'I'm sorry, hon…so you were in love with this Sydney chick?'

'Yes…I mean, no…um!' Nigel backed away as Marjorie began fiddling with the buttons of his coat. 'That's irrelevant! The matter is _you_ have stolen her body, and I'm going to find a way to get it back!'

'Sorry, can't be done!' replied Marjorie, with more than a hint of a pout. 'Your gal's soul is already long-gone from this realm. Besides, if you _weren't_ in love with her, and it was only lust…' Grabbing Nigel by the collar of his coat, she pulled him close again so their lips nearly touched, '….then what's wrong with ol' Marjorie?'

'Don't listen to her!' yelled Sydney, who was, with a fair with of unavoidable overlap, squeezing into the narrowing gap between them. 'Try to listen to me! Tell her to go powder her nose or something and go read the texts!'

'We…we…need to go read the texts,' stuttered Nigel, as that eerily luscious coldness glimmered through him again. His eyes juttered anxiously over Sydney's – or rather Marjorie's sumptuous lips and the all-too-visible cleavage, before coming to rest momentarily on what appeared to be an expression of genuine yearning.

'Come on Nigel, don't be distracted, listen to me!' growled Sydney.

'We need to find the texts!' repeated Nigel, firmly now. 'Look, it's only natural that you want to live too. Maybe we can find a way to bring her back and save you both. Whatever these dark arts are, they seem to be powerful ones…'

Marjorie scooped him into a tight hug again. 'That a boy! I knew you'd see it my way…oh! You're hurt!'

She'd squeezed him rather _too_ violently this time, and in the wrong place. Nigel winced, reaching towards the torn material of his coat, and the graze beneath on his arm. What with all his other troubles and his throbbing head, he'd almost forgotten this minor injury - until now: 'Yes. It's a gunshot wound,' he explained, hissing though his teeth as she probed the wound, rather too keenly, with her long, fingernails. 'It's only a scratch… but it's courtesy of your _husband_, I believe.'

'Yeah?' Marjorie scrunched her nose in fashion far more reminiscent of Roxie Hart than Sydney Fox. 'He's a bad 'un, that man! Let's go get this book before he wakes up, huh?'

'Are telling me you don't like your own husband?' asked Nigel, slightly bewildered.

'Hate 'im!' Marjorie determinedly scrunched Sydney's fists. 'So you're with me, right?'

'Uh…right…'

'Okay, so she's on our side…that's good, I think,' observed Sydney. 'Or maybe not! Hey, don't let her take you that way!'

Sydney rushed to stay with Nigel, as Marjorie grabbed him by the hand and led him towards the front-door of the house.

'Why are we going outside?' asked Nigel.

'The books hidden the garage!' grinned Marjorie.

'NO ITS NOT!' yelled Sydney. 'SHE'S UP TO SOMETHING!! IT'S UPSTAIRS!'

Nigel frowned, pulling his hand away. 'I don't want to go out there. Really, I've got a very strong notion that it's hidden upstairs.'

He had his foot on the first step of the grand staircase, before Marjorie grabbed him again and began dragging him back.

'No - the only thing upstairs is my mad husband! Go up there, we both die!'

The wind and rain blasted into both of their faces as Marjorie kicked the door wide. Nevertheless, the elements were not the only things she let in.

There was a piercing cry of 'weeeeeeeeeoew!' A thin, black cat brushed by Nigel's leg in its desperation to reach somewhere warm and dry. Its coat was sleek with rain.

'Hey, that must be the cat Syd nearly hit!' he commented, watching the forlorn, little animal speed into the hall –then its wet paws skidded to a halt. The cat arched its back, spat like a mini-demon and puffed out its tail so it became as large a fox's brush.

Sydney stared at the cat – and the cat stared straight back, now hissing like a venomous snake.

'You can see me!' gasped Syd – even as Nigel, awestruck at the cat's odd behaviour, was tugged outside by Marjorie. She crouched down, and held out the back of her hand to the animal.

'Okay, cat,' she whispered. 'I may be a ghost, but I'm still a cat-lover – and you could be my best hope of getting through to Nigel.' She pursed her lips and started making kissy noises – and prayed that what worked with Mafdet, worked with this cat too.

The cat regarded her with wide, green eyes then, very cautiously, began padding towards her.

'Yes!' At her cry, the cat startled, and darted behind a tottering hat-stand. 'Oh…don't do that…oh, damn, I don't have time for this. I have to get after Nigel!'

Sydney sprinted towards the door, hoping to pass straight through it – but banged straight up against _something_.

'Eh?' Feeling no pain, but certainly shock, Sydney ran her fingers against her forehead – and it occurred to her, like so many spectral phenomena, she was trapped in the house where she died. She couldn't go after him!

The cat peeped out from behind the hat-stand and gave a 'mew' that verged on the sympathetic.

'Yeah, it sucks, puss-cat,' muttered Syd. 'Nigel's gone with that hussy, and I'm stuck here...so it looks like I'm going to have to go read the book alone.' She winked at the cat, which backed away, wary again.

'_You're_ more nervous than Nigel when he was first my assistant,' she grinned. 'Let's see if you can be even a little bit as helpful…come on, let's go!'

IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII

When Sydney reached the bedroom, the texts were still lying on the far-side of the room, untouched by Marjorie who had obviously left in a hurry. She was pleased and a little surprised to note that the cat had, indeed, followed her. Being the mistress of a particularly independent-minded feline, she had scarcely expected that! The furry creature nudged the door open with its wet, black nose, making her worry that Hostler, still unconscious and slumped over the bed, would stir. He didn't – although Sydney could tell from his reverberating heartbeat he was also very much alive.

Her chief concern at that moment, however, was reading the texts themselves – particularly Ethelbert's 'Book of the Deathly Heart'. Banasidol's scroll was a force for good. The source of any evil – and its undoing – she was sure was in the book.

The ancient tome was lying, shut, on the floor. 'Okay, here goes…' she thought to herself. Concentrating very hard, she tried to open it with the power of her mind. Nothing happened.

'Damn', muttered Syd. 'Open, damn it! Come on!'

At this, the window flew open again and wind and rain gusted into the room. The force flung wide the cover of the book, whirred through every page from beginning to end, and then slammed it shut again before she could read a single word. The gangster moaned and stirred, but did not appear to wake. The cat shot under the bed – then shot out the other side again, its green eyes particularly harrowed.

'If you were my naughty Mafdet, you would have gnawed those bones,' laughed Syd. 'Or maybe you're a ghost cat, and you just passed straight through…of course! That's the answer!' Syd nearly slapped her forehead at her own slowness. 'What am I doing trying to open the book! I'm a ghost! All I need to do is think a little bit more like a ghost – and pass straight through? Okay, focus…focus…I want to get in that book!'

There was an eerie whooshing noise and Syd sensed her ephemeral form flying towards the flaky leather volume. 'Uh, I hope this was a good idea!' she wondered as she was sucked through the cover, into an ocean of huge, floating letters, thick, crumbling paper.

Then she came to a grinding halt – and found herself face-to-face with an extremely wizened old man. Tall and spindly and leaning on a staff of the letter 'I', he had an unkempt, grey beard, sallow, white, paper-thin skin, and a tarnished, lop-sided gold crown.

'King Ethelbert!' snarled Syd. 'So you've been trapped in a book all this time?'

The old man's mouth formed a perfect 'o' for a second – he was obviously deeply shocked by the sudden company – before curving into a pale mimicry of a smile.

'What have we here?' he inquired his voice dull and husky.

'One _very_ annoyed Relic Hunter! Look – I need to read your book, and then I'm getting out of here. So…if you don't mind?'

Shutting out the King's presence as best she could, she tried to absorb some of the strangely-scripted words and letters into her consciousness. There were thousands of them, though, and most of them made little sense. When she did manage to string a sentence together, it was horrific incantations about human cannibalism and the cost of prolonging life. 'No thanks,' muttered Syd. 'I don't want to prolong anything – I just want my natural life back!'

All too soon, they blurred into an incoherent, muddy mess – and all she could see was the gloating visage of the King.

'Well, my fine Relic Hunting friend,' he leered. 'So you want your life back? So do I!'

'Yeah?' said Syd. 'Well, tough luck. You see, I've still got a perfectly good body, living and breathing out there…yours is, sort of, um…what did happen to your body?'

'Hung, drawn and quartered in the fourteenth century,' hissed Ethelbert. 'I became lazy…but not this time.'

'There won't be a 'this time,'' Syd told him, determinedly. 'So, if you'd just shut up, I need to read this ghastly text of yours and find out how to reverse the incantation before midnight…'

'You'll never do it in time! There are over one thousand pages and I won't tell you which one the answer is on…unless…you do a little something for me.'

'No way!'

'No way…then you'll never find it in time – and the man that you care for more than life itself – the man you love - will surely die!'

'The man I love!' The words blurred again in front of Sydney's eyes. 'What the heck do you mean?'

'You know exactly what – and _who_ – I mean,' whispered the King. 'I saw it in your soul as soon as you entered my book, and knew it was my key to freedom. I saw it clearer than _you_ ever have - sweet, blind demoness of denial!'

'Who you calling a demoness?' retaliated Sydney, trying not to dwell on the meaning of his other words. 'Look, tell me where to look or as soon as I get out of here, I'll cast the book into the fire!'

'With whose hands?' Sydney metaphorically cringed – she hated this lack of a physical being.

'I'll think of something!'

'Yes, you may well – but still not soon enough to save yourself and your lover! But I can give you the answer and have you out of here in two heartbeats…' Sydney's soul prickled with horror as the King's presence surged around her and his words consumed her.

'Now, here is what you have to do…'

IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII

When Sydney re-emerged into the bedchamber, the shapes and colours were fluid, blurring into one another like molten plastic, or as if viewed through curving glass. Looming large in front of her was a huge, blobby black monster!

'Meow!'

Syd almost screamed, but even before everything began to stabilise, she realised it was the cat – and that, once again, its back was arched defensively and it had a _very_ large, bushy tail.

'Hey, it's only me, I'm back!' she soothed, stretching to her full height. The cat, however, suddenly darted behind her.

'What the…oh!' To her disgust, Sydney saw that Hostler was awake, and that he was stalking over towards her and the book. He also seemed to have taken relocated his Tommy-gun.

It was then that she heard an urgent footstep on the stairs – and Nigel's voice.

'Don't you understand? I'm not leaving here without the book! There must be a chance that I can get my friend's soul back in her body and find you another one! Hell, it's got to be more likely that we can get that 1930s Ford in the garage going, and we have a perfectly good modern car outside…!'

'I didn't want to get the car going, you blind fool,' seethed Marjorie as Nigel burst through the bedroom door. 'I wanted to make love, you idiot…oh! Hello, husband dear!'

Syd groaned as Hostler confronted his wife, and her assistant – the gun in one hand, and the book in the other.

'Hello Marjorie,' leered Hostler. '_Who_ you wantin' to make love to?'

In a flash, Marjorie had shoved past Nigel and draped her arms seductively around her husband. '_You_, dear…only you!' she husked in his ear. 'I'm sooooo happy you're not dead! I thought you were, you see?' The gangster grunted a salacious form of approval.

Now, it was just poor Nigel who was staring down the barrel of the gun. 'Uh…I'll leave you two to it, then…'

'Uh, uh! Not so fast…' Hostler jabbed the gun two inches closer to Nigel's chest. 'You were supposed to be starving to death in the basement! What the hell do you think you were doing with my wife?'

'I…I have no interest in your wife whatsoever…I'll…um…just get back to the basement and that new diet shall I?' He flashed a desperate smile. 'No need to show me the way…'

'Oh, yeah, I think there is,' snarled Hostler, as Nigel backed towards the door. 'And this time, let's make sure that there's no mistake with the dyin'!'

'NO!' screamed Sydney, as Hostler squeezed back on the trigger, the gun aimed straight at Nigel's heart.

But the 'yowl' that sounded was feline, not human. The little black cat, terrified by the cry, dashed from nowhere, claws and jaws flailing and collided with Hostler's ankle.

Nigel dived for the door, and six shots fired wildly. They all missed him completely.

'Yargh! Get this monster of me!'

The cat, with an unworldly strength, had sunk its little teeth deep into the gangster's ankle, and was _not_ letting go. The wife merely repressed a titter. The husband, however, not seeing this, shoved the gun into her hands. 'What are you waitin' for woman! I raised you from the dead – the least you can do is finish off that no-good runt for me! Yaaaaaargh!'

However hard he shook his ankle, the animal still clung on, claws ripping into his trouser bottom. Marjorie her eyes narrowing shiftily, yelled 'Okay, darlin'!' and ran from the room.

'I do not like you, you low-life bitch!' hollered Sydney, and dashed straight after her.

Nigel was at the bottom of the stairs when Marjorie fired, flailing the barrel randomly. Several shots whizzed by his ear – the final one missing by a whisker.

Knowing he'd never make it to the exit, Nigel dived down behind the staircase. He scrambled through the first open door he reached, tangling his feet on some remnants of planks. His knees rushed ahead of his boots, and he tumbled head over heels down the basement staircase, feeling only a sharp, all-consuming pain, before everything went black again.

IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII

Nigel was awoken by something warm, tender and strangely rough brushing against his cheek. He _knew_ that sensation. It was normally a greeting he received on his hand, when he'd let a certain somebody have a sneaky lick of his plate, or brought her a particularly smelly bag of catnip.

'Mafdet?' he whispered. But the snout shoved in his face was much thinner and sleeker than Sydney's fluffy, little pet's.

'Ugh!' he cried, sitting up abruptly as his senses returned. 'Ugh – you mangy moggy! What are you doing…oh! Oh bloody hell!'

Nigel's head spun and throbbed even worse than before. As he realised he was back in that nightmarish, gas-lighted cellar, and that he had failed in his mission to save Sydney, his spirits plummeted like a sack of cement through water.

'Oh God,' he murmured, burying his face in his hands. 'I shouldn't have let that awful woman take me to the car! I should have followed my instincts, gone with the flow…everything Sydney would have done! What a fool…'

'You're not a fool,' sighed Sydney, who was nestling on the floor beside him. 'There's still a chance, but I just wish I could get though to you!'

He felt the cat rub up against his knee again. 'At least I've got you moggy,' he sighed. 'Well, I guess we'd better try again – lets see if we can get through that door. I've done it once, eh?'

'That's the spirit,' grinned Sydney, and dusted her fingers along the cats back, imagining its velvetiness. The cat's agile spine undulated in response, as if it really felt her touch.

In a few minutes, nevertheless, Nigel's hopes were shattered. He shoved forward the battered, wooden door in no time – only to have it smash back against a brick wall. The cat, unsettled by his noisy efforts, disappeared down the stairs into the maze of boxes and other detritus, leaving him with an ever-burgeoning perception of solitude and gloom.

'Great,' he thought to himself, stumbling back down the stairs. 'And I thought the last few Christmases were bad? What did I know? Here I am, locked in a madman's basement – God knows, I'm hungry now, but how long will it take to starve to death? My head is killing me, its freezing cold and…and…' he glanced down at his watch. It was now nearly 11.30 p.m. As he closed his eyes, the lashes were already moist with tears.

'There's just no way that I can find that scroll by midnight, stuck in here. Sydney is…really, truly dead.'

Sydney. Dead.

The words ripped through him like two fatal bullets – and suddenly he wished that Marjorie's shot had been good. Sydney had filled his heart and soul, for the past three years. If she was gone from this world, what was the point of his remaining in it?

'I wish I could just end it now,' he whispered, wrapping his arms around himself and letting the tears flow freely. Yet even as his spirit begged to give in, that strange shivering sensation wafted through him – and, suddenly, he realised what it reminded him of. It was that wonderful effervescence that he always discerned when Sydney touched him.

'Sydney?'

Nigel started; the little cat meowed and smoothed her neck against his hand.

'Oh, it's just you,' he sighed. 'You should be glad I don't like cat-meat!' He almost laughed, but couldn't quite muster the will.

'Goodbye Syd…' he whispered morosely.

But the words jammed in his throat. The gaslights suddenly surged, and the basement was pervaded with the crackling strains of lush strings. And then, from seemingly nowhere but a pile of old boxes and crockery, there sounded the tremulous strains of Judy Garland's voice:

'**Have yourself a merry little Christmas,  
Let your heart be light,  
From now on, our troubles will be out of sight****…'**

'Please, Nigel,' begged Sydney, exhausted at the mental effort of finding the record and - somehow, she barely knew how herself! - placing it on the hidden, ageing, gramophone. 'You _must_ know it's me _now_ – and, uh, please don't just call the song 'stupid, saccharine, over-sentimental Americana!''

Nigel, now standing bolt upright, stared straight at her, and answered breathlessly: 'I wouldn't dream of it!'

He went to throw his arms around her, although she backed away, her hand raised.

'I'm still a ghost, Nigel! At last you believe in me, and it really seems to have made a difference, but I'm still…um…'

'I don't care!' He wrapped his arms carefully around her shoulders, and their bodies sunk together; she revelled in his life-force and warmth; he in the sheer vibrancy of her spirit. 'I don't care! As long as you're with me…and there's hope! There must be hope, right?'

'There is, I promise. We just have to find Marjorie's heart and get it back into her body to undo Ethelbert's curse. Oh, and find the right words in Banasidol's scroll to get my soul back in my body – all by midnight!'

'By midnight?' gasped Nigel. 'How are we supposed to do that in, um, about twenty-five minutes?'

'We will,' said Sydney firmly. 'Although…uh, there is a catch!' She pulled back so she could read his expression, and he hers. Nigel saw her turmoil, even on her faded countenance.

'To find out what to do from Ethelbert's book and, uh, save both our asses, I might have had to make a pact with the…uh, devil…but, we'll find a way around it. Everything is going to be just fine…'

Nigel blanched as he coiled his arms around her again. 'I'm sure it will, Syd,' he whispered. 'And, you know I don't care. I'd go to hell for you, anyway…just so we can always be together!'

'I know,' replied Sydney, her tone hushed but her eyes dancing once more. 'At least, I know that now, even if I never…uh, understood it that way before…' She trailed off, still unable to quite find the right words to return his affection. 'But let's hope it doesn't come to that. After all, it _is_ Christmas…what could go wrong at Christmas?'

They shared their tragic laughter, even as the music and lyrics swelled to new and ridiculously poignant heights:

'**Through the years  
We all will be together,  
If the Fates allow  
Hang a shining star upon the highest bough.  
And have yourself a merry little Christmas now'. **

'Merry Christmas, then,' whispered Nigel, as their lips touched - and their bodies and souls, truly, madly and willingly, melted together as one.

**Thanks for reading. Please review.**


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimers: as ever.**

**Thanks for those reviews :) HAPPY XMAS/HOLIDAYS EVERYONE!**

Chapter 5.

They held the embrace until long after the crackly strains of the music faded. Finally pulling away, Nigel stared deep into Sydney's chocolate brown eyes – and then his heart nearly died. The gaslight that flickered within them was not a reflection, but one that blazed on the wall behind.

'Hey, at least we're still together,' she offered, reading his desolation. 'And we're going to get out of here _alive_, right?'

'Right…' Nigel offered a very tentative smile. 'So, um, any ideas on how we do that? And…well, I hate to complicate matters further, but where on heaven or earth are we going to find Marjorie's heart? It's probably decayed beyond belief by now, or maybe Hostler destroyed it or…ate it! Ugh!'

'No, it has to still exist for the incantation to work.'

'Yes, but where?'

With a nod, Sydney indicated down to the stone floor where pieces of paper were still scattered from their interrupted game of Conclak.

'You're not serious?'

'Quite serious – I'm a ghost, remember? I, just, err, looked. It's under the floor in a wooden box. But the only way to get to it is by triggering a complex mechanism – which is what the game is for!'

'So your hunch earlier was right?'

'Seems so! I figured playing the game must _do_ something - and it was just as we started to play when Hostler originally turned up. He must have known we were already in the house, but he was biding him time - until he became scared we were going to find something really precious too him…'

'…Marjorie's heart!' finished Nigel. 'But…um, how do we know that playing the game won't summon _him _again?'

'It might,' sighed Syd. 'But, lets, uh, worry about that one if we come to it. Gather up the pieces, Nige,' - he shivered with pleasure again as he sensed her brush against him arm - 'and let's play!'

IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII

'I'm not sure how we're going to do this,' worried Nigel as he laid out the paper pieces in the little niches on the floor again. 'I guess I'll have to play your moves for you, you'll just have to tell me where to start!'

'That's probably best anyway, seeing as I don't know how to play!' laughed Sydney.

'You'd pick it up quick. You always do!'

'I don't think I'm half such a quick learner as you, Nigel,' she retaliated, still smiling. 'Have I ever told you…uh, how amazing you are?'

Nigel blanched, nearly dropping the papers. 'Um…I'm not sure,' he mumbled. 'But…err, you're wrong anyway. You're much better than me, at everything…you're just being nice…one of you many talents, naturally…' He broke off, knowing he was blethering embarrassingly.

Syd said nothing, but her eyes spoke volumes.

'You're _not _joking, are you?' he stuttered.

'Did that kiss feel like a joke?'

'No…oh God!' Nigel paused, running his fingers agitatedly back through his hair. 'You're not yourself, and I'm…well, I've had several hits over the head tonight…'

He froze. A stream of velvet ice seemed to rush across his cheek; tingles of pleasure streamed like tears down his spine. He didn't need to look to know she'd kissed him again.

'You can see right through me now, Nigel. And, you know, I think I've learnt to see right through you, too…and I've learnt a lot.'

He moaned internally as he felt the phantom unravel her touch; Syd couldn't restrain a laugh. 'And I like what I see,' she whispered.

'We've not got much time, remember?' Nigel fumbled the last few pieces of paper into their positions. 'We'd…we'd better play.'

Nigel dropped his bits of paper, and then made Syd's move, starting where she requested. There were no jokes this time; they concentrated and played as fast as they could.

After a few minutes, Nigel groaned in frustration: 'Nothing's happening! Could the board have any other meaning? Any sort of symbolism, conjure up sacred numbers or something?'

Syd frowned a second, before inspiration struck her. 'Some Conklak boards found in temple floors revealed secret messages if played the right way. You have to win on a certain number. Its all linked to the Janelian worship of perfection in mathematics as the base of life. I wonder…the Janelian number which represents the heart is…'

'Forty-two!' finished Nigel, venturing an optimistic smile. 'Okay, keep playing, but I'll let you win…we just have to make it that you have forty-two of the pieces of paper in your 'home' niche at the end.'

Several tense minutes passed before Nigel dropped the last two pieces of paper in Syd's winning hand. 'Forty-two! This'd better work!' he muttered desperately.

There was an agonising moment of silence. Then there was a tiny click, and whole stone slab with the board on it swung downwards, revealing the hidden compartment.

'Yes!' Nigel threw his arms around Syd's shoulders, only to pass straight through her and nearly fall forward down the hole.

'Oh…oh, sorry!'

'Don't worry,' laughed Syd, the glow in her eyes every bit as vibrant as if they'd found the most valuable relic. 'But you'd better hurry. The heart is down there, in a little box!'

Nigel opened it, half twisting away – he'd seen enough horror movies to well imagine the gory sight within! The box contained an innocuous-enough looking bundle, wrapped in yellowing, bandage-like cloth. He pushed the side of his hand against his lips, feeling slightly sick and hoping she wouldn't make him check.

'It's okay,' hushed Syd. 'You've got it!'

Shoving the bundled back in the box, he jumped up to find her already hovering on the bottom of the stairs.

'So, um, what's the plan? Do you think you can blast through a brick wall!'

'I've no idea if I can do that,' she admitted. 'But I'm going to give it a try!'

CRASH!

They both jumped at a sound that very much resembled a sledgehammer blasting through bricks.

Nigel raised a hand to his chest in astonishment. 'My God! You're _very_ good…'

'That, uh, wasn't me!'

There came a second, followed by a third crash and then, before even Sydney had whizzed around to have a look, the door flew open. There, sledgehammer in one hand, gun in the other, and crowned with a halo of dust stood the stunning figure of Sydney Fox – Marjorie Hostler!

'Wow! That Sydney chick certainly has one fine, powerful body!' chirped the gangster's wife. 'I can't wait to make love in it! Are you coming, Sweetie?'

Nigel gawped back at her for a moment – Sydney growling 'don't trust her' in his ear - before spluttering: 'What do you mean? You tried to kill me!'

'No, no, no!' she protested. 'It was just diversionary tactics…I missed right?' She pouted, managing to make Sydney's lips look more whorish than Nigel ever believed possible – despite having seen her in that get-up in Amsterdam when they were after the Thutmose Diamond!

'I can't believe you're thinking about me in that outfit at a moment like this!' hissed Sydney.

Nigel gave an involuntary squeak. 'She can read my thoughts?' he wondered, with an inkling of horror.

'Uh…seems I can,' answered Syd. 'I'm getting better at this ghost thing by the second…but, whatever you do, don't freak out! We've got fifteen minutes remember?'

'What you waitin' for?' demanded Marjorie. 'Come on hon', lets scoot!'

'Whatever,' sighed Nigel and, carefully concealing the little box behind his back, he picked his way over the scattered bricks – and then barged past her and made a dash for the stairs.

'Hey – where are you going?' yelled Marjorie.

She fired, this time narrowly missing his ankles as Nigel dived through the bedroom door and slammed it behind him. A second round of bullets hammered against the back of the solid wood door, even as Nigel turned a rusty key in the lock. It wouldn't keep her out for long, he knew - but would it be long enough?

He turned and, with a gasp, saw three sets of eyes staring at him: Sydney's, the little black cat, who curled carefully around her legs, and Hostler's. The gangster, however, was tied in a chair, a gag over his mouth, and his trousers around his ankles.

'Does that bitch have _any _clue what side she's on?' quipped Syd. 'Though she's actually done us a favour with her husband!'

'I think she might have done!' Nigel regarded the gangster warily; he glared back angrily and vaguely embarrassedly, wrenching at his bonds. Then he jammed a chair under the doorknob as an extra bastion and ran over to the texts, grabbing the dusty old book. 'Right! Where do I begin?'

'You need to turn to page, uh, seven hundred and sixty-eight. There's an incantation there that will remove Marjorie's soul from my body…and, um, release Ethelbert's from the book!'

Nigel, who had started to open the book, suddenly slammed it back shut again. 'Can't we just say the bit which refers to you?'

'Sadly, I don't think it's that easy – they're intertwined, you see. I can't say one without the other, and if I don't say either…'

Nigel didn't need her to finish the sentence. He heard it loud and clear in his head. It spelt their doom. But he also read her plan to pin the murders on Hostler, and see the evil king live out the remainder of his earthly days in jail.

'Okay,' he said grimly, and began shuffling through the pages. It was an ancient, illuminated manuscript, embellished with macabre images of fire of hell, weeping mortals and skulls and crossbones. Page seven hundred and sixty-eight contained the most frightful visions of all, with crude representations of medieval peasants, faces contorted in agony, their hearts being ripped from their bodies.

Despite this, the page was dense with highly ornate calligraphy, which made even Nigel balk at its complexity. 'There's loads of it…and it's going to take a while to read through…argh!' He glanced desperately at Syd as the edge of an axe came ripping through the door. The cat shot off behind a wardrobe with a terrified yowl. 'And _she's _going to be through any second!'

'I'll see what I can do!' Nigel was sure he felt the sensation of somebody squeezing his shoulder – without ever quite being touched. But when he looked up, Sydney was gone.

IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII

When Sydney reached her, Marjorie was still hacking away at the door with an axe - and she was nearly through.

'Damn! What would I give to just kick that lowlife in the head,' muttered Syd. 'Even if it is _my_ head, it'd be worth it!'

Glancing around the landing, she couldn't see any obvious missiles, and there wasn't even a window to try and harbour the power of the wind through. 'I could try and fling open the front door, or something…'

Marjorie gave a squeal of delight as the middle of the door began to collapse away under her splintering blows. 'But I've got to be quick, or Nigel's had it! That's it! What would Nigel do? It would be something subtle, not a direct hit; maybe something to destabilise her…the rug!'

Marjorie was just turning to pick up the gun, when the carpet flew from under her feet, and she plummeted over and forward, landing with a sickening crunch on her chin.

'That's going to hurt in the morning,' winced Syd.

Nigel was now chanting, furiously spieling forth incantations – and about halfway through.

'Can't you go any faster?' hissed Sydney.

Nigel indicated with a scowl that he was definitely going as fast as he could – and she read in his mind that he hated to imagine what nightmares he was conjuring up.

'Okay…well, keep at it…but, um, faster!'

Syd anxiously watched Hostler as Nigel kept chanting. She could see that the gangster had nearly wriggled his way out of the ropes that held him to the chair – and she could sense that Marjorie, too, was stirring. In a second, all hell was going to break loose!

Nigel's words accelerated towards a final flourish, and then he breathlessly slammed shut the book.

'That's it…oh God, two minutes to midnight. Is anything happening?'

Hostler had gone completely rigid; his eyes bulged like a goggling lizard. Beneath the gag he gave an agonized scream, which flowed almost seamlessly between agony and a truly malicious joy.

'Okay, so something's happening there,' he gulped, and then glanced anxiously at Sydney. 'What about you?'

'You've still got to read the scroll to put me right, then put the heart back in the body…quickly!'

'Right!'

Nigel threw down the book, then picked up and unfurled the scroll. Images of suffering and death were replaced by the beautiful depictions of a goddess on a lake – and a very complex, early Indian dialect.

'Bloody hell, this is ever harder to decipher!' he moaned.

'Just read it!'

'I will…'

Ethelbert was now laughing maniacally; Marjorie was nearly on her feet, and reaching for the gun. Even as Nigel rattled through the text, the mad king ripped through the bonds, and the gangster's wife finally kicked through the door.

Unable to stop chanting, Nigel cried out mentally to Syd to do _something, anything_. There came no reply. His heart clenched in anguish as he realised she had gone completely.

'Whatcha run out on me for?' pouted Marjorie pointing the gun straight at Nigel.

Nigel backed against a wall, breaking the chant just to say: 'Because you're completely insane! But not as mad as him!'

He pointed frantically at Ethelbert – in Hostler's body – who had now escaped from his chair. Or rather, he appeared to have risen up, ripping off the gag and looming above them like an evil genie escaped from the bottle - albeit one with his trousers still around his ankles.

'Help – you weren't _that _big before!' worried Nigel internally, even as he returned to his words. 'Syd – where _are _you?'

Marjorie swung the gun so it pointed at Ethelbert. 'Hey, you were supposed to be waiting quietly!' she snapped, although her aim wavered uncertainly. She could tell _something _was different about him.

'Hello, my beauty,' leered Ethelbert.

Marjorie narrowed her eyes suspiciously. 'Not your little Tulip?'

'No.'

'Then…you're not my husband!'

'Maybe, maybe not…but I can certainly show you a good time!' With one fluid movement, he lunged forward and grabbed her by the arm although she just managed to keep the gun out of his clutches. 'Kill the boy with that strange and wonderful weapon, and we will have the world at our feet…'

Nigel, who was still chanting like a mad thing, started tripping on his words in alarm. 'Seems a shame,' shrugged Marjorie, easing away so that she still had a good aim at both of the men. 'He'sso pretty…and…uh, who are you anyway?'

'Ethelbert, King of Kent!'

The gangster's moll wrinkled her nose. 'Kent County, Maryland? Uh…are you rich?'

'I have more gold and jewels than you'd know what to do with! Come with me, and with the power of the Texts we conquer all!'

'Really?' Marjorie's voice hitched with greedy expectation, even as she continued to back away from the mad monarch.

'_Really_, my pretty one…but will you get on with it and kill him or your body will be repossessed by that far less co-operative relic hunter?'

'Hey!' yelled Marjorie. 'Don't' hassle me! You know, I think I'm going to kill you both, take that magic book, and go to Hollywood! I'm gonna be a star!'

Nigel shouted out the final line of the Banasidol's scroll and dived towards the bed with the box. Ethelbert grabbed at the gun again, only to have his feet entangled around the tail and legs of a terrified feline. He crashed forward onto the floor, even as Marjorie cackled loudly:

'I'm sick of bein' told what to do by stooopid men! Hey, what are _you _up to, handsome?'

In other circumstances, Nigel might have objected about having to slide under a dusty bed to put the heart back into a well-rotted corpse. In these, however, he just gritted his teeth and got on with it, swallowing a frisson of revulsion as he saw light glint off yellowing bones. His hands were shaking, though, as he fumbled the bundle over the ribcage, cringing at the chalky, brittleness of the bones, and plunged it unceremoniously through the cavity in the middle. Then a hand seized him firmly by the seat of his pants and pulled him back out from under the bed.

Twisting off the grip and scrambling up, Nigel gazed straight into a pair of enigmatic, dark-brown eyes. They were eyes he knew so well, yet they still seemed far too distant.

'Syd? Is that you?'

The woman's expression was glazed, the gun pointed straight at him. Then she squeezed the trigger.

Nigel cried out in horror, his arm instinctually folding around his chest, but she swished her aim onto Ethelbert, and piled a round of bullets straight into his chest. The she turned back towards Nigel.

'Syd?' he pleaded. She just gazed at him, her lips set firm, her features as straight as an ice cream. 'It's me…you must be in there somewhere! Please…' Her finger twitched towards the trigger again. 'I love you?'

Then she threw the gun to the floor and fell forward into his arms.

'Oh God…Syd…I…did _you _shoot him? Not that it matters but…'

Nigel was silenced as her lips – full, warm, moist and alive – sealed over his own. Kneeling, they melted into one another. Hands clutched at hair, tugged at clothing, desperately seeking oneness, as the clock tolled midnight over a scene of dust, love and carnage.

Nigel shut his eyes to the sight of the twitching, bloodied corpse, and let the kiss overwhelm him. Even though they'd never really done this before, it was so right, so familiar.

'It doesn't matter,' thought Nigel. 'Nothing matters now, as long as you're with me…'

**Not quite the end...**

**Thanks for reading. Happy Christmas! **


	6. Chapter 6

**Disclaimers: as before.**

**Pure New Year fluff, as that seems to be the only thing I can write right now. I'm struggling a bit here, and I can hear the bindweeds growing around me (and have been wandering, sinfully, into a new fandom!) Please, oh dear, sweet quiet people, review, post, help me out!!! In cyberspace, can nobody hear me scream??? **

**Thanks so much for the reviews - big Happy New Year hugs to Tanya Reed, Ivoryrose, Aryea and Lulu**

Chapter 6

Sydney's hands were still cold and shaking when she clambered back into the car and laid them on the steering wheel. The storm had died down, and a crescent moon was peeping from behind nebulous, night clouds. A single, misted star had also pierced through the gloom.

'You want me to drive?' asked Nigel quietly, settling into the seat next to her.

'No,' replied Syd. 'I'm fine, I'm just…adjusting back, I guess. It's great to be able to touch again, to feel. It's just wonderful to be alive.' She paused, taking a deep breath. 'And with you.'

She turned to him, the ghost of a smile flickering on her lips. 'I'm sort of glad, you know. That this all happened. I wonder how long it would have taken to, uh, see through each other, without all that?'

'I don't know, and I'm glad we found out…but, it, um…' Nigel shifted awkwardly, pressing himself into the far-side of the seat. 'It doesn't have to change things. In fact, in some ways, I'd rather it didn't.'

'Why ever not?' Syd frowned slightly. 'I love you, you love me. We did before; we just hadn't, uh, come clean about it. Now we have. So nothing's changed…except maybe that we get to do this.'

Sydney leaned towards him, gleaming, dark-chocolate eyes saying more than words ever could. Then slender fingers reached out and cupped the back of her neck, pulling her closer, urging on that subliminal moment where their lips sealed together.

Nigel's mouth brushed against hers, parted slightly, bringing with it that same cherished warmth, that same feeling of one-ness she had experienced as a spirit…and so much more! She grasped the back of his hair, willing the kiss ever deeper. A tidal-wave of pleasure tingled through her frame; she relished that inevitable kick of excitement in the pit of her stomach.

It was wonderful, strangely familiar. And _so_ much better with a body!

She was disappointed when they broke away. It was done purely through the need for oxygen.

'That was amazing,' she murmured.

'Sensational,' agreed Nigel, and then winced slightly, torn between his desire to return for more, and a niggling worry.

'Err, Syd. What are we going to do about leaving that house with our fingerprints all over it, and a dead-body? Well, a couple of dead-bodies, actually, though how the police missed the skeleton under the bed before, God only knows!'

'Don't worry, we'll sort it out. I'll call Derek or Cate: somebody who knows what we deal with, and who can clear up. And won't it be great that we can get Banasidol's scroll back to the temple where it belongs?'

'Yes, but what are we going to do with King Ethelbert's horrific book?' Nigel shot a wary glance towards where the volume rested on the backseat, wrapped in a decaying bed-sheet. On the other side, the little black cat, which had followed them to the car, was curled up fast asleep - Mafdet was going to have to learn to get along with a new companion!

'I don't know yet,' confessed Syd. 'But I'll think of something…maybe that's one relic that shouldn't be passed on any further through the ages – at least not out of a high-security museum!'

Nigel started as Syd's fingertips, cool yet silly-soft, skimmed across his cheek. 'But right now, I've got far more pressing matters. We've got a Christmas to celebrate, remember?'

He captured her fingers in his own and, feeling rather audacious, pressed them against his lips. It was more than enough of an answer.

Syd turned the keys in the ignition and drove off into the night.

They didn't say much. They listened to tacky Christmas songs. Yet neither of them had a doubt in their minds that this would turn in to the most wonderful Christmas ever – and the most exciting New Year.

**Thanks for reading. There might be more of this, if I am inspired to write New Years Day fluff!**** Anyone interested?**


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